


A Horse and His Conscience

by Transposable_Element



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Book: The Horse and his Boy, Calormen, Child Abuse, Escape, Ethical Dilemmas, Pedophilia, Rescue, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-24
Updated: 2014-09-24
Packaged: 2018-02-18 15:36:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2353565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Transposable_Element/pseuds/Transposable_Element
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bree knows his master is abusing children. But what can he do about it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Horse and His Conscience

**Author's Note:**

> I have rated this "T" because rape is not directly described. However, there is a scene of a child rape, which we hear, but do not see. If you think I should change the rating, please let me know.
> 
> Also, in case it isn't clear, Anradin Tarkaan is _not_ bisexual. He is a pedophile. There are pedophiles who do not act on their sexual attraction to children. Obviously Anradin is not that, either.

Bree had been a slave for five years when the strange tarkaan with the crimson beard bought him. It was about a year later that his master, Anradin, brought the first child into Bree’s stall. Bree already hated Anradin more than anybody he had ever known, but he did not realize how depraved he was until it was too late to stop him from hurting the little girl. The stall was narrow and Bree couldn’t turn and couldn't see much of what was behind him, so all he knew was what he heard: the voice of a little girl, eager to see the tarkaan’s beautiful horse; then a scuffle...Anradin’s cruel laugh...a muffled whimper...the man’s rough breathing...a groan. Finally, Anradin, as he departed: “Go clean up, you little whore.” A moment later a peasant girl in a torn smock was leaning against Bree’s flank and sobbing. Bree could smell a faint tang of blood, as well as other smells, less familiar. Finally, he understood.

Bree knew very little about human mating, since the strange creatures almost never mated outdoors, but he knew this girl was far too young for it. And in any case, she had obviously balked. Bree had not been old enough to mate before his enslavement (and had so far managed to resist being forced to mate with a dumb mare), but he had been old enough that his father had explained it to him. He had said that even if a Mare was in season, a Stallion should never press her if she balked. Dumb stallions didn’t understand this, of course; that was one of the things he despised about them.

He nuzzled the girl and gently nickered a lullaby, which he hoped would comfort her even if she didn’t understand it. After a while she wiped her face on her smock. She stooped down and picked something up off the floor of the stall: a coin. Anradin must have thrown it to her. “Ma will want this,” she said, in a dull voice. She left, and Bree didn’t see her again.

Bree thought about what he should have done, what he _would_ have done if he had realized what was happening. So the next time, several months later, he was ready. This time he was in a larger stall and had room to turn. He pranced and snorted nervously. He could see the girl, who seemed to be a little older than the first one, and as soon as he was certain she understood what Anradin was trying to do, he shied and kicked down the door of the stall, and then quickly moved, pushing Anradin away from the girl and placing his body between them. She darted off and Bree backed into the doorway of the stall, blocking it to prevent Anradin from following her. He reared and kicked and snorted and squealed, keeping Anradin busy for as long as he could, giving the girl plenty of time to get well away. Of course Anradin didn't understand what had spooked Bree. Sometimes it was useful to be thought a dumb beast. And working off some of his anger felt good.

Bree saw nothing like this for nearly a year, but now he knew that Anradin made a habit of this sort of thing. Undoubtedly it was still going on, somewhere out of Bree’s sight. There were plenty of young slaves on his master’s estate. He wondered if he ought to kill the tarkaan, which he could easily do with a well-placed kick. It would mean sacrificing his chance at freedom, probably being gelded, or even slaughtered. It would also be murder, and Bree knew that was wrong, no matter how much a man deserved to be punished. If only he could tell someone, some human who would do something to stop Anradin. Should he? But that, too, would be the end of any hope of freedom. He salved his conscience by telling himself that even if he broke his silence, it wouldn’t do any good. Anradin was a tarkaan, and the children were peasants and slaves. Nobody would care. Still, the problem nagged at him. Was there nothing he could do?

The next time it was a boy, even younger than the first girl. Bree tried to kick the door down, but it was too solid, so he devoted himself to rearing, plunging, and squealing. He kicked at the walls of the stall, making so much noise and fuss that Anradin eventually let the child go. Perhaps he feared someone would come to see what was wrong, or perhaps even Anradin couldn’t concentrate on his dirty business while in a small enclosed space with a rearing, kicking stallion. Bree was afraid that Anradin would simply take the boy somewhere else, but apparently he was more concerned about Bree hurting himself than he was about holding onto the boy, because he stayed in the stall with Bree, trying to get him to calm down. Bree took his time about this. “What is it, Thundercloud, did you want a piece for yourself?” Anradin asked. Then he laughed unpleasantly. “Unusual tastes, is that it? No wonder you won’t breed.” Bree longed to bite him, but he managed to restrain himself. A few days later, though, he contrived to “accidentally” kick Anradin in the thigh, not hard enough to get himself into trouble, but hard enough to make a large and painful bruise.

Not long after that he and Anradin set off toward Tashbaan on some evil errand or other. Bree felt as low as he had ever felt in his life. Anradin had plenty of food in his saddlebag, and as it was warm he could easily have slept out, but the second night on the road he demanded food and lodging from a fisherman who was clearly so poor that he could barely feed himself. The fisherman’s son was blond and fair-skinned, though a bit sunburned. One look at the boy told Bree two things: he was a Northerner; and he was Anradin’s next object. The boy showed Anradin to a little thatched stable. It was small and the fodder was fit only for the resident donkey, so Anradin tied Bree outside, where he could graze. The boy left, and Anradin stayed behind for a moment, taking a few things out of his saddlebag and making sure that Bree was securely fastened to the stable wall. “I’ve a mind to buy that boy,” he said to Bree, patting him on the neck. Bree shifted nervously and twitched away, but of course Anradin had no idea why his horse was skittish.

After Anradin departed, Bree wondered whether there was any way to help the boy. If Anradin bought him there was nothing he could do. The boy would be at Anradin’s disposal for as long as the tarkaan wanted him. Bree could only pray that the fisherman would refuse to sell, but there was little hope of that. The fisherman might not realize what was in store for the boy—though he would have to be exceedingly stupid not to guess, as there was nothing special about the boy except pretty and exotic looks. He might well be willing to sell anyway, but even if he did try to refuse, Anradin would probably wear him down. It was next to impossible for a commoner to refuse a tarkaan. Anradin nearly always got what he wanted. 

A while later, as the light was beginning to dim and the stars were coming out, the boy wandered toward the stable where Bree was grazing and worrying about what to do. The boy began to talk to him, and for a moment Bree wondered if he had somehow intuited that Bree could speak; but no, he was just thinking aloud. He had overheard the tarkaan and the fisherman bargaining and seemed certain of being sold to Anradin. He wondered whether the tarkaan would be kind to him or cruel, but it was clear he had no idea what Anradin had in mind. Bree kept grazing, though each mouthful of grass seemed to choke him.

“I bet this horse knows, if only he could tell me,” said the boy.

With a rush, Bree realized that here was the chance he had been waiting for. He could save the child, and himself. But he resolved then and there not to tell the boy exactly why it was so important for him to escape Anradin, not unless it was the only way to convince him to escape. He stopped grazing and looked up.

“I wish _you_ could talk, old fellow,” said the boy.

For the first time in years, Bree spoke. “But I can,” he said.

**Author's Note:**

> The last scene, including exact quotes of dialog, is from _A Horse and His Boy_. 
> 
> I think my interpretation of Anradin's motivation for buying Shasta is supported in the text, even if it's not what Lewis had in mind. (It's also possible he did have it in mind: the crimson-dyed beard may be meant to suggest perversion.) Shasta has no special skills or strength that would make him attractive as a laborer. Anradin is obviously not on a slave-buying expedition since he hasn't any way to transport slaves and hasn't brought a lot of money with him (Shasta finds 40 crescents in the saddlebag, which is more money than he has ever seen, but a lot less than Arsheesh's asking price). So Anradin is just doing this on a whim. It's unlikely that he would think it worth the bother of dragging Shasta with him wherever he's going unless he had a very special use in mind for him. And the way he talks about Shasta is suggestive: "...the boy is fair and white, like the accursed but beautiful barbarians who inhabit the remote north." (The assumed superior beauty of white skin is another issue entirely.)
> 
> For what it's worth, I think Bree is correct in thinking that breaking his silence to tell someone what Anradin is doing would be fruitless. The possibility of finding someone who would care _and_ who had power to do anything would be very remote.
> 
> As you may remember, Anradin falls at Anvard ("Your Tarkaan's down, Bree," says the Hermit). That's all the detail we are given, leaving us free to imagine whatever fate we like.
> 
>  
> 
> See also the companion piece, [Slave Names](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2551973), which is about Hwin's experiences in captivity.


End file.
